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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29695302">Sand Mafia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neorue/pseuds/Neorue'>Neorue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dream Team is a mafia group, Family Dynamics, I can’t write anything without family dynamics so have some more, I’ll add tags as I go, Other characters will come later don’t worry, Tubbo hates the door with a passion, Wilbur looks tough but he’s a softie, but make it mafia au, he also a rich boy, how the heck does a mafia work, im sorry T-T, indefinite hiatus/random updates, mafia, pacing and I are not friends, sand mafia, wilbur loves sand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:47:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29695302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neorue/pseuds/Neorue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was nothing he loved more, than taking the elevator down to floor S1 -the button cleverly hidden behind a motivational Tofu-Chan poster- and admiring his empire.</p>
<p>Wilbur Soot- Head of the infamous Sand Mafia</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tubbo &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introducing- The Sand Mafia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this while sleep deprived with no plan in mind.<br/>What is plot? Who knows.<br/>I’m gonna make this up as I go so set the bar low.<br/>&lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was nothing he loved more, than taking the elevator down to floor S1 -the button cleverly hidden behind a motivational Tofu-Chan poster- and admiring his empire.</p>
<p>The few mile long underground warehouse was filled to the brim with bags upon bags of the worlds finest sand.</p>
<p>Nothing pleased him more than to see his prized possession thriving under his watch.</p>
<p>Wilbur Soot- CEO of Soot Manufacturers, Soot Hotels, and Soot Co. Respectable business man and multimillionaire, was the alias the common world knew him by.</p>
<p>But where he was standing now turned him into someone completely different.</p>
<p>Wilbur Soot- Head of the infamous Sand Mafia, one of the largest players in the underworld.</p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“I’m here to give the monthly report, sir.”</p>
<p>Wilbur glanced at the errand boy who trembled under his gaze.</p>
<p>“You’re new aren’t you?”</p>
<p>The trainee visibly flinched at that, nodding quietly before fidgeting with his clipboard.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry I won’t bite. Go on. Give the report then.”</p>
<p>“The net revenue is 1.6 billion for this month and expenses are lower than ever. Protection fees from the other groups are up 3% and we’ve collected 62 million from those alone.”</p>
<p>Wilbur sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The net revenue’s too low. We need to fix that.”</p>
<p>There was a tapping before he heard, “With all due respect sir, they’re the highest they’ve been since early last year.”</p>
<p>Wilbur stared at the trainee, locking eyes with him a moment.</p>
<p>“They’re. Low.”</p>
<p>“Yes sir.”</p>
<p>The boy bowed and turned to the stairwell to report back to management.</p>
<p>“Wait. I’ve got one last question for you.”</p>
<p>The trainee paused and turned around. “Yes sir?”</p>
<p>“What’s your name.”</p>
<p>The boy gave Wilbur a half smile before answering. “Tubbo Watson, sir.”</p>
<p>“I like your attitude Watson. Try not to get fired.”</p>
<p>“Yes sir.” Tubbo left, happy he hadn’t messed up badly.</p>
<p>——</p>
<p>Tubbo Watson.</p>
<p>Where had he heard that name from?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. That wasn’t supposed to lock...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something told Tubbo he wasn’t supposed to be here. Why did the door have to lock?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Got bored so I wrote the next chapter<br/>There is now a thread of plot and I kind of know where this is going<br/>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something told Tubbo he wasn’t supposed to be here. Maybe it was the clicking of the guards pistols. Maybe it was his racing heart. Or maybe it was the fact that he was inadvertently spying on his new boss, Wilbur Soot.</p><p>Oh he was screwed.</p><p>What he thought had been a simple task had led to this predicament and now all he could do was wait.</p><p>The files he had been instructed to grab were strewn on the floor where he sat.</p><p>How could he’ve know the door would lock behind him?</p><p>This was supposed to be his first job in the underworld. Nothing too dangerous, just Income Management’s errand boy. The position payed fairly well and with his skills he quickly made connections, setting himself up for success.</p><p>So why the hell was he locked in a file closet, listening to a conversation that was most definitely confidential?</p><p>Tubbo sighed, resigned to his fate. Even if he didn’t want to listen, the voices carried through the door loud and clear. He supposed you didn’t need soundproofing for a closet.</p><p>He’d only been trapped for a few minutes but apparently a few was enough for the young crime lord to unknowingly leak confidential information.</p><p>“Yes. The distribution point will be here.”</p><p>“So the rendezvous and payment will be-“</p><p>“Whitetaker sector, 5th Avenue for security reasons. I know it’s not what we agreed on but-“</p><p>The voices continued on and a small part of Tubbo hoped Mr. Soot closed the deal successfully, but a larger, much more prominent part of him hoped he wouldn’t be found.</p><p>The conversation tapered off and the men came to an agreement.</p><p>Tubbo quietly sighed in relief, hoping Soot wouldn’t stay in the office for long after.</p><p>“Let me grab the paperwork and we can solidify the details.”</p><p>“Go ahead mate.”</p><p>Tubbo didn’t hear the next part of the exchange, too busy searching for a hiding spot, none in sight.</p><p>His head was pounding, his ears were ringing, the door handle was turning, and- shit. He was going to die.</p><p>The door swung open and Tubbo waited for him to call the guards but nothing came.</p><p>“How’d you get in my closet Watson.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dadza!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Coffee and casual crime<br/>~Now with less sugar~</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Tubbo woke up this morning, he did not imagine this scenario at all. Sure- he ran through some witty comments and perfected the cactus joke delivery, but mirror-Tubbo didn’t practice conversation starters to have over coffee with your crime-lord boss.</p>
<p>Honestly, those would come in handy right about now.</p>
<p>”So, Watson. How’d you end up locked in my file closet?”</p>
<p>Tubbo stared into his cup, deciding to tell the truth. If Mr. Soot wanted to hurt him he would’ve done it already.</p>
<p>”Management wanted files and the report from a few weeks ago.”</p>
<p>Wilbur frowned but accepted the answer, draining his cup before speaking.</p>
<p>”Might as well address the elephant in the room while we have some <em>privacy.</em>”</p>
<p>The guards filed out, the door locking behind them. As soon as they left Wilbur dropped his perfect posture, snagging a vodka bottle from the shelf behind him.</p>
<p>”No.” The stranger had been so quiet Tubbo’d almost forgotten they were there.</p>
<p>”Fine, fine. Naggy.” Wilbur set the bottle aside, but not without some grumbling.</p>
<p>”Now back to our guest here, we have many things to discuss.”</p>
<p>”About that,” Tubbo started. “I promise I won’t tell anyone about-“ He was cut off by Wilbur’s burst of laughter.</p>
<p>”I meant this guest.” Wilbur jabbed a finger in the cloaked man’s direction. “And about what you heard- don’t worry about it. All false information anyways. Y’ hear that- SUCK IT GREEN BOYYYY!”</p>
<p>The other man sighed, clearly used to this. “The whole point of being discreet was so they didn’t know we were on to them, Wil.”</p>
<p>Wil? He called Mr. Soot Wil? Who was this guy?</p>
<p>”Too late.” The grin on his face said he wasn’t sorry at all.</p>
<p>”Going back to the issue at hand, Watson, I don’t believe I’ve introduced you to this old geezer.”</p>
<p>The man facepalmed, mumbling something about knives and a window.</p>
<p>”I’m not old Wil, we’ve been over this-“</p>
<p>”Sure, sure.”</p>
<p>”-And why’re you calling Tubbo Watson? Bit weird mate.”</p>
<p>“Weird? It’s your name.”</p>
<p>His name?</p>
<p>”You have the same last name as me?” To say Tubbo was confused would be an understatement.</p>
<p>The stranger chuckled, unbuttoning the top piece of their cloak.</p>
<p>”More like you have the same last name as me.” He pulled off his mask, blonde hair falling in his eyes.</p>
<p>”...Dad?”</p>
<p>What is with today?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So glad I don’t have to write Tubbo as Watson anymore.<br/>Every single time I could just picture Sherlock standing over my shoulder.<br/>Never again.</p>
<p>This chapter is kind of uneventful but necessary to tug the plot thread along.<br/>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Bacon and “that bastard”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The masked man is not happy.</p><p>The conversation is not one Tubbo thinks he’s ready for- but when has the world cared about what he thinks.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m sorry I went MIA on this fic<br/>We back and I’ll try to update more often</p><p>Big thanks to Daydream who listened to me cry about this chapter- I suffered writing this for no reason at all</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The masked man crushed the small speaker under his hand, the pieces clattering to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">They tricked him. That bastard <em>Wilbur Soot</em></span> <span class="s1">tricked him. His fist tightened as he imagined the smug look that was without a doubt plastered on the face of the curly haired CEO.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He let the pieces fall to the ground- turning to his assistants.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re using the mole. <em>Now</em></span>
  <span class="s1">. I don’t care if 404 says no- I’ll deal with him later.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The assistants nodded, leaving to relay his order.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d wipe the smug look off of Wilbur’s face if it was the last thing he did. And it wouldn’t- if he had anything to say about it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">——</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The frying pan sizzled quietly, Tubbo watching the bacon turn a golden brown.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Breakfast for dinner was one of his favorite things.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Being conscious of your dad watching your every move because shit, he just found out you work for the mafia secretly and you just found out he works for the mafia secretly- was not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He slid the bacon onto two plates with some toast and handed one to Phil.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They ate in silence- Tubbo waiting for the bombshell, growing more and more anxious when Phil said nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They finished their dinner- quietly submerging the dishes in sudsy water.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re waiting until I say something, right?” The small flinch wouldn’t’ve been noticeable to anyone other than Phil.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not mad at you Tubbs. Honestly you should be mad at me.” Tubbo didn’t say anything, opting to scrub the plate rather than answer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you enjoy it? Your job I mean.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tubbo looked at the plate, then Phil, then the plate again, as if deciding the right answer. “It’s...new. I haven’t done anything big but I don’t think I would hate doing more important stuff either.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you want to move higher up? Get more involved with the crime side of the business?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I guess, yeah.” </span>Tubbo placed the plates in the cupboard, moving on to the silverware. “Is that... bad? To want to be a- a criminal?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Phil paused, tapping two forks together absentmindedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Any normal parent would say yes- but I can’t really lecture you on that without being a hypocrite mate.” Phil chuckled. “I’ve had my fair share of illegal activities and I’m guessing you’re going to at least double mine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ruffled Tubbo’s hair, the younger smiling widely at the touch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So- you gonna ask Wil for a raise?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tubbo sputtered out a protest, both at the thought of talking to “Wil,” and at his father who was doubled over in laughter, clutching his sides.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh mate- you should’ve seen your face-“</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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